


Sticky Fingers

by misomikko



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: "studied", (jfk voice) by which i mean SEX, Banter, Body Horror, F/M, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Snarky Smut, Strangers to Lovers, and teaching grogu to swear, big meat mando, but ive studied the genre enough to get by, humanoid alien reader, joining the lightyear-high club, kind of?, reader is a badass, reader is bad at everything except stealing and bullshitting, reader is just an ass period, that tag makes me cackle every time i encounter it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misomikko/pseuds/misomikko
Summary: Yami Goldas, an ex-Arkanian con, thief, and overall scumbag, has finally fucked up. It her easiest target yet: some scrappy ship with a literal hole in it and multiple exposed panels. A terrifying joyride. Perfect. Get in, borrow the ship, fly around a bit, land and leave. Easy.But everyone makes mistakes.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Character(s), Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. A Little Rusty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I deleted the first three chapters because it got a little too complicated. We're all here for the smut. But DAMMIT, I just can't stop writing plot. Anyway. No Mando for now, but we DO have a baby yoda.

Ahhh, you sighed. _My favorite part of the day._

Grinning, you unclenched your fists, letting the contents of your sleeves spill onto the ground. For once, your organization system had worked. You hummed(?) as you unpacked, discarding rhyme and rhythm with every line:

Weapons in the **left** sleeve, **snacks in the right;**

Eyewear and makeup **in. the. bra** (hey!) **,**

Forged legal documents an' **soup! stand! punch! cards!**

Stick 'em in the flesh pockets, **BAM! BAM! BAM!**

The coat for the contraband and **last! of! all!**

**That weird toy with a big ribbed enddd...**

You take a deep breath, slipping into a showy (if not tone deaf) broadway finale,

And we ALL! **KNOW!** **WHERE!** **THAT!** **WEEENNNT!**

Flopping down on the floor, you took a moment to rest. The satisfaction was pretty fleeting. Just an average day for an average pickpocket. _What happened to you?_ You were _never_ just some mediocre scrounger. You used to be _bold. Flashy. Flamboyant_. You'd become one of Nar Shaddaa's spectacles, the outrageous lawlessness that awed you when you first arrived. Where others wore crude masks, you wore the faces of the prettiest corpses you could find in the back alleys (you kept it hygienic, of course, and always made sure the corpses were actually dead beforehand). You'd hide behind the glow of neon lights, slipping into gambler's dens. You wore the dirt on your clothes better than a Nightsister wore red (not really). When you'd deliver your loot to the girls at the red light district, you'd stay and dance late into the night. Philanthropy was a wonderful thing when it involved someone else's money.

 _Maker, you've let yourself go._ Your senses had dulled. You'd gone soft. Hell, you probably couldn't tell spit from spotchka. An academic burnout back on Arkania, now a washed up has-been con on Nar Shaddaa. When had you become such a stranger to adventure?

_Adventure._

Maybe that's what you needed.

_I've gotta get sharp. Get back into the game._

For the first time in almost a year, you felt a spark of motivation. 

***

The docks were beautiful at night. And even better for appraising ships. In years past, you'd gone for the shiniest ones, the neon lights reflected hazily across their chrome hulls. Nothing like a challenge, and even for you, the rich bastards' security measures put up a decent fight. Just the thought of breaking in sent chills down your spine, your fingers fidgeting restlessly. _No,_ you told yourself, _I gotta ease back into it._

Nothing like a joyride on a crappy ship, is there?

_ Speaking of ease, my GOD that's a piece of junk. I mean, a literal hole in it? Multiple exposed panels? Those must be filled with spare parts. Also, a ship this trash has gotta have some juicy ass personal secrets. _

Getting in was trickier than expected, but you managed to slip into the cabin. Pretty old, but still well-maintained. You wandered around, drinking in the exhilarating chill of a good crime, only stopping when- _S_ _tars_. You'd forgotten ships had buttons. _Fuuuuck._ You swore those were the devil's greatest invention. Honestly, you couldn't count the times you'd fucked up a heist because you couldn't resist... _Oh hell,_ you thought, _just one push. Shouldn't hurt anything._ Savoring the moment, you gave it a good press. 

Nothing happened. Good. That meant you could push it again. And again. _Ahhh_ , that _chuh-ch_ as it clicked. Like making love without the commitment issues and shitty partners. 

Well. 

Turns out the button did do something. It just took a second to operate. A panel started to slide up, a flash of brown cloth appearing before the mechanism, obviously confused by your button overuse, shut. Then opened. Then shut. Then opened... and stayed. Thank the stars. You didn't want to break the ship even more than its owner did. You leaned over to take a closer look at the alcove. 

Something was... glurbling. But also croaking? No.. squeaking? You saw the brown cloth move. Whatever was there was _tiny_. You could take it on if it tried to attack. You hoped.

Slowly, two large ears emerged from the cloth. Then a light fuzz, then _kriff, those are some big eyes._ The creature cocked its head, looking at you with a curiosity you matched in equal measure. You slowly reached out a hand, keeping it within the thing's line of vision, to pet its head. _Awwwww... it's so fuzzy._

"Hey, little guy," You said, physically restraining yourself from using the baby voice. You had no idea whether this creature was an adult, and, as you'd picked up from other smaller species, baby-looking adults were pretty aggressive. 

Mostly because they had more to prove. 

You'd done baby talk to an elderly war veteran that, in your defense, looked _exactly_ like a human baby, and it took years of birthday cards to get him to forgive you. Well, he didn't quite forgive you. He just died of old age. But close enough. Either way, you probably shouldn't refer to people as "little guy." _Shit_.

But the little fuzzball just cooed and burbled and looked pretty happy, so you assumed it was some kind of kid. _Jesus, this whole ship is a safety hazard. Who the hell let a kid board it? Oh man, I hope this isn't a starving-family kind of ordeal. I can't deal with the guilt, and I REALLY don't feel like throwing away credits._ You looked at the kid. You looked at the door to the ramp. _Hell. I guess it's the least I can do._

For some reason, you couldn't get the panel to close. The button still worked, but the door just wouldn't budge. Weird. _Guess I can't lock the kid back up. Dank farrik._ You're horrible with kids. They love you, but the last babysitting gig you had was when you were fifteen, back in Arkania. The mother, tight-lipped and disapproving, had kicked you out for teaching the kids how to pick locks. Last you heard, they'd run away so many times they were put up for adoption. 

Grimacing, you picked up the kid and opened the ramp. You weren't sure how much mechanical work you could do one-armed, but you might as well try. 


	2. An Overstayed Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the reader has ADHD. Because I can't help but do a self insert. Fuck.

Strength, ironically, was not your strong suit. After about five minutes of being a tough, inspiring single mother, you were forced to put the kid down. The going was even slower, the task now consisting of chasing the kid, bringing the kid back, distracting the kid from the occasional frog, wait, fuck, no, don't chew on that, that's worse, distracting the kid from chewing the wires _with_ the frog, and a few minutes of _actual_ work.

After half an hour, you ran out of scrap metal. Scanning the area for more, you turned just in time to see two frog legs disappear down the kid's gullet. 

_I should just lock the kid in the fresher. But he'd probably eat the door handle, the little womp rat-_

_Oh. The **fresher door**_ **.** _Perfect._

_Whoever owns this glorified tin can probably doesn't have many visitors, and flying ship_ **_obviously_** _outweighs a doorless fresher any day. They wouldn't even miss it. Either way, don't the ends justify the means?_

You pick up the kid (about two frogs heavier than before) and trudge back up to the door. The metal paneling would be suitable for a decent exterior patch job, and the hinges and lights... were just straight up cool. You _were_ a thief. You couldn't do a good deed without restoring _some_ balance to the universe. You made quick work of the metal, separating it into plates. You tossed the handle to the kid to play with, which it promptly gnawed on. You remembered a study you read back in the Arkanian labs, which examined why babies love putting coins in their mouth. Huh. You looked at the metal plate in your hand. You didn't get the appeal. you turned it over, exposing its polished side. _Oh._

_Ohhhh. So shiny... Just wanna lick it._ _Damn, metal **is** kind of edible-looking. Oooooh..._

_Kark. Focus._ You shook yourself out of it, detaching the lights from the insides of the buttons ( _oooh... buttons_ ) and ripping off the hinges ( _ahhhh... hinges_ ). You balanced the child on top of the door panels, and returned to the ramp. 

Patching up the hole in the side was a relatively quick fix (although a little sloppy). You were a little dubious about leaving the kid in the ship by itself. But what could you do? The stupid hatch to its room wouldn't close back up, you needed to wash the ship grease off your arms, and you didn't want to stick around for the owner to come back. You planned on dropping the child off in the hull and booking it to the ramp, locking up and trapping the kid where it'd be (somewhat) safe. You scooped up the little guy for what you thought was the last time, and turned to the upstairs ladder. Stars, this kid was heavy-

A hand clamped down on your shoulder.

_"Move,"_ a modulated voice seethed, _"and you'll be dead before you hit the floor."_


	3. Curiosity Killed the Caniphant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the reader is a literal gremlin and uses buttfucker as an insult because she's immature as shit and thinks the word's funny. Her expressions only get worse from here.

_"Move,"_ a modulated voice seethed, _"and you'll be dead before you hit the floor."_

_Oh shit._ Your mind went into hyperdrive, searching for any bit of information that would get you out of this. _Judging by the hand-wrist angle, he must be kind of tall. Wait, is **this**_ _what the kid is gonna grow into? If it is, this guy's ears must be **gigantic.**_ _I wonder how he fits through doors. Oh my god if he was falling, could he steer with those things- **Focus,** dammit._

_**'** _ **dead before you hit the floor.'** _He must have a blaster of some sort. His left hand is on my shoulder, meaning he plans to hold his blaster with his right hand, meaning chances are he's right-handed, which works in my favor, seeing as I'm a southpaw. Right-handed bipeds tend to have stronger left legs, so if I somehow grab onto his left side to deal with the blaster-hand, I can use gravity to pull his balance off his left leg, so that I can grab it when he tries to kick me off. But that's a last resort. He wouldn't kill me in front of the kid... would he? Oh fuck, the kid. How do I put it down when I can't move??? The womp rat's heavy. Wait. He_ ** _definitely_** _wouldn't shoot me while I'm holding it. I can work with that._

You slowly turned around, holding out the kid as both an olive branch and an adorable living shield. Your eyes were squeezed tight, displaying what you hoped was fearful submission. _Cower, placate, negotiate,_ _**win.**_ At this point, you'd count leaving here uninjured a win. Kark, you'd count leaving here _breathing_ a miracle. 

The child was gently lifted from your arms. _Thank god._ Even though the kid was the only thing between you and possible death, you were glad it was out of harm's way. Sighing with relief, you slowly opened your eyes.

Your first thought was that you were staring at a mirror. Not quite a flattering one; your face stretched outrageously from the nose out, but a mirror nonetheless. Your eyes slowly took in more and more, realizing it was a chest. _Maker, he's broad._ Your gaze drifted up, higher, meeting shiny shoulders and the base of a helmet- _kriff. KRIFF. Is this guy what I think he is???_ You'd researched Mandalorians back in school, mainly because there was so little literature on them. If you could study this guy enough, you'd probably get a pretty penny for your discoveries. _Not to mention you'd prove those elitist buttfuckers back home dead wrong. Village idiot my ass._

...

He wasn't talking, wasn't making any threats, wasn't interrogating you, wasn't beating the shit out of you. Just... silence.

You hated silence. Silence was never peaceful. It was the sound of listening. _Watching_. Observing. Of course, you yourself didn't mind being the one people-watching. It was fascinating. But the thought of someone seeing _you_ under a microscope? Looking a little too closely? You'd hidden so many flaws inside yourself that soon they replaced the then the bones, then the flesh. A life's worth of lies and shame at your core, held together by friction and pressure. You were sure if someone looked too closely, they would be bound to see a flash of what's inside, hiding just under the veneer of your skin. Maybe the dry skin above your brow. Maybe the pores on your nose. Maybe the way your hands were perpetually shaky, or the resignation written into the bags under your eyes. _Distract them. Get them to look somewhere else. Please._

Showmanship with a loud laugh, expressive face, and a blinding smile, glitter so bright no one could see what was underneath. 

Silence was truthful. Revealing. You hated it. You had to speak. It was your best, hell, your only defense. A showman with a loud laugh, expressive face, and a blinding smile, wearing glitter so bright no one could see what was underneath. _Just say something. Anything, maker, anything._ You opened your mouth, having no idea what to say, and let go.

"Okay, so what's the protocol here? You're the one with the armor and weapons and stuff, so do you wanna go first? Or I can. I swear, I was gonna return it after I was done-"

The Mandalorian tenses slightly, his arms tightening around the child as you realized the implications of what you'd said.

"-Wait, wait, wait, WAIT, I didn't mean the kid, I meant the ship, I swear to god I'm not a kidnapper, honestly, I'd be an _awful_ mother anyway, what with the commitment issues and family trauma and all that-"

_"-You were going to steal the ship?"_ You bristled defensively at the words. They were true, but you weren't going to let him be right.

"I wasn't going to- well- look, I suppose it _could_ classify as theft, but I was just going to fly around a bit... y'know?"

Silence. He tilted his head incredulously. 

"Look, it's not as if I could do any _more_ damage to this thing, huh?" you ribbed, hoping he'd warm up to you. 

Needless to say, he didn't. After (more) silence, he put down the child, placing a hand on your shoulder, right where it met your neck. _Is this a Mandalorian thing? Is this how they laugh? Or some kind of... comradery?_ You stood there like that, thinking maybe silence wasn't so bad after all. This was... fascinating? Concerning? A split second seemed like an hour with the way your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all until the hand adjacent to the root of your neck _squeezed_ , thumb pressing above your clavicle, pressure hinting right below your jugular, and all you can think is _oh,_ the kind of _oh_ where adrenaline races all the way down to your hands and back up and you know you'll be dazed for the next _week_ but you can't let it show, and all you can do is _watch_ and _feel_ and know _this_ is what it would be like, what you would feel if you were the kind of person who felt those things, what you would feel if circumstances were different, if he felt the same adrenaline back and _he's leaning in oh Maker oh Maker and kriff, oh kriff, what is he going to say next...?_

He leaned over you, pinning you with his (lack of) eyes. He tilted his head lower, even closer, the roughness of his voice harsh and raw from the modulator:

_"get off my ship."_


	4. Let's Make a Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to remind you all, the reader IS a scumbag with attachment issues, but they're trying.

_Guess it wasn't a grip of goodwill after all._

Shit.

Well.

You didn't spend a day fixing some old crate for _this_.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn't mean it like that," the hand began to pull you around as he practically dragged you down the platform. "I-I- I _love_ your ship! One of the best, right? I mean, it was good enough for me to jump, right? -Wait no, sorry, that didn't help my case at all, did it?" He huffed, dragging you a little faster. No. _No._ You were _not_ going to let this get away. A Mandalorian was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You were gonna profit off of this man if it, if _he_ , killed you. 

In desperation, you moved on instinct. A backwards jump into the air, one calf across the front of his ankle, the other leg kicking the back of his knees, sent you both to the floor. You weren't strong enough to beat him, not by a long shot, but you were fast enough to elude him for long enough to get a few more words in. 

"Look- _huff_ \- I don't want to steal anything- _huff-_ anymore." You dodged as he lunged towards you, sliding away and sprinting into the cabin. "Swear to god. I never steal- _huff-_ from the struggling, and christ, _huff-_ you're _struggling._ " After a few more close calls, you found yourself backed into a corner, the figure coolly advancing on you. _"Maker,_ pal, why else would you put a kid in this- _wheeze-_ pile of junk?" His hand closed around your bicep as he crowded you further into the wall. You couldn't _believe this_. For once, you'd done a _good thing,_ something you'd sure as shit _never_ do again. Face scrunched with indignance, you stood on tiptoe, trying (and failing) to meet his eye level. _"Hell, I even ditched the joyride I was **looking forward to** to **play babysitter** and **f** **ix** your **kriffing ship!** " _

...

He stopped, slightly cocking his head to take a better look at you. _"You... fixed the hole?"_ You grinned. _Success. Just gotta play my cards right._

"See for yourself. I had limited materials, but I think I managed." You nodded towards the exit. 

_"Come on."_ He stalks off, you trailing behind him. His cape fluttered with a fleeting gust of wind, and honestly, all you could think was _nice ass._

Because really, it was.

When you finally descended the ramp, you saw him outside, staring at the patch, hands on his hips, and you were sure you could practically hear the thoughts rattling around in that helmet. _Not bad._

_Oooh, that's going to the ol' god complex. The big surly Mandalorian has no complaints._ Maybe it was because you were a boundary-pusher since the womb. Maybe it was because you were too cocky for your own good. Maybe it was because you just couldn't keep your stupid mouth shut. 

"Y'know," you prodded, "you really shouldn't have let go of me. I could've taken off by now." He stiffened, grabbing your arm again, _hard_.

"Shit, man, _easy_. I was just kriffing with you. Kind of." You grin. He sighs, exasperated.

_"I appreciate the help. Now leave."_ You stare at him, incredulous. He seems almost... awkward. And he still hasn't let go of your arm. Hmmm. You could _use_ this. 

"Yeah, pal, no problem. Anytime. And really, anything for the lil' gremlin you got with ya."

_"..."_ _Oh my stars. He really **is** outta his depth here. _In your experience, there were two types of successful in the lawless, shady scene of the Outer Rim. First, there were the fast-talking bastards. They saw a world of deceit and embraced it. They won because they thrived. Secondly, there were the hard-shelled outsiders. They saw a world of treachery and learned how to protect themselves from it. They won because they survived. Either you were flashy and pursued or you were secure and alone. You figured he was one of the latter. _How long has it been since he's had a conversation? A companion that could talk? Maker, how long has it been since he's been touched- **not gonna go there. My mind is pure.**_

"Hey, hold on," You ruminated, pretending this wasn't your plan from the beginning. You took on a feigned air of concern. "do you take the kid when you're... doing Mando things? 'Cause I spent a night and a morning trying to fix this thing while babysitting the little womp rat, and I can take a load off your plate." Silence. _Oh shit, maybe it's actually concerning._ "You aren't leaving him alone in there, right?" The helmet drooped a little.

_"Can't always take him with me."_ You blanched a little. You'd spent hours at the West Arkanian library, pouring over child development and the factors that contributed to it (mostly because you were trying to figure out what went wrong with _you_ ), and you _knew_ that isolation was almost never beneficial to any semi-sapient child.

"Look, I'm not one to tell people how to parent since I'd probably be shit at it, and I get that you don't really have any other choice, but I wrote a whole research paper on child development and I just gotta ask, out of curiosity, are you sure that's good for that species?"

_"I'm not... sure what he is. Neither is anyone I've asked. And since he's rare..."_ the Mandalorian trailed off, the implications loud. _If it's unknown, or rare, it's probably hunted._ You felt a stab of sympathy for the kid.

Wait. _Wait. Holy kark, this is it. This kid might be the best thing to happen to me. I just need to play my cards right. Easy does it..._

"Huh. I can't believe I'm saying this, but technically I'm _not_ a stranger... Okay, I _see_ the way you're looking, uh, helmeting, at me but gimme a chance here. See, I've been looking for some odd jobs, and, as you can see, I've _really_ let myself go in terms of my grand theft game, so I _am_ free. And hey. I'm a three-in-one deal. Mechanic? Check. Babysitter? Not really, but close enough for jazz. Pickpocketing and robbery? Still got it, um..." You racked your brains for any other things. "I _was_ in the circus, but that was just to hold the juggler hostage. His brother was one shitty sabacc player." You thought you heard a tiny exhale from under his helmet. _That couldn't be a laugh... could it?_

Ten seconds pass of him staring at you. You mentally prepared yourself for the five stages of grief. Finally he speaks.

_"...Okay."_

"W-wait, _really??"_ you near-screech, blowing what little composure you still had. He nodded.

"Okay oh- _KAY_ , it's a deal, it's a kriffin' _DEAL, baby!"_ You bubble over, rocking on your toes gleefully. "Swear to Maker, you will _not_ regret this. I'm a fast learner and I've picked up a lot. I also did a brief stint in the red-light clubs, so make of that what you will." You winked.

Silence. _Shit, Yami. Know your audience._

He stared at you, completely still, then turned and started off back up the ramp, dragging you with him. You were about to tell him he really didn't need to hold on to you, but halfway up you realized you didn't mind it. You didn't mind it at all.


	5. Day One on the Crest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short one, but I might post later today. Please let me know if my writing is getting rambly or corny or juvenile, because honestly, I can't help but feel a little rusty. Anxiety really is a bitch sometimes. But seriously, any bit of critique is appreciated!

He sat in the cockpit, impossibly immobile, save for the occasional switch of a button. _Is this all he does in his spare time?_ You weren't sure if he was even breathing. _There!_ _Or was that just the ship rattling?_ You studied his (lack of) movement, looking at the tattered cape he wore, the sheen of his helmet, the broadness of his sh-

_"What do you want."_ Kark on a stick. Could you make a worse impression? You weren't sure how long you were ogling him, but you had the feeling it was a few seconds too far. _Lie and deny, baby, lie and deny._

"Came up to see the stars, but your big head keeps getting in the way. Hey, can I sit?" You asked, already sitting in the seat next to him. 

Silence.

"So... how does this work? Do you just sit here for hours?"

_"...Yes."_

"Fair enough, fair enough. Actually, doing undemanding tasks like control maintenance has been shown to hella boost creative thinking."

Silence. 

"You know why?" You didn't wait for a response, just talking to desperately fill the space. "It all uh, has to do with the unconscious brain. In this study I was reading about, researchers would test the participants by asking them multiple questions. They found that after a period of encouraged mind-wandering, the group's responses to open-ended questions were much more diverse than usual, which is kriffin' crazy, right?"

Silence.

"I mean, _dank farrik,_ " Your voice had risen a couple pitches in anxiety as your mouth babbled on. "The implications of that are i-incredibly vast. If we could only find a way to harness the subconscious mind and study it, our knowledge of the humanoid brain would increase tenf- exponentially. The weight of what we _still don't know_ is just so _formidable_ , but it's- it's almost comforting, the fact that we won't have to face running out of discoveries-"

You had swiveled your chair away from the Mandalorian. _If I can't see him or hear him, he might as well not exist at all, and won't be judging me, right? RIGHT?_

"-but _ANYWAYS,_ I digress, the point was, I respect your plans for this evening, based on these findings. I mean, it's really the same concept as why people come up with their best ideas in the 'fresher, y'know? Like this one time, I came up with the idea for a flesh pillow, because if you've ever lay down on someone's stomach, you know they're _mad_ comfy. But the only problem is that the person comes with it. Thus the flesh pillow! Comfort without companionship. Honestly, it might be right up your alley then, amirite?"

You turned your head to chance a quick peek at him, just to be greeted with an empty chair. _When the hell did he leave?_ You sighed.

"... _Definitely_ up your alley."


End file.
